


Woman with Strawberries

by JaqofSpades



Category: Glee
Genre: Multi, Porn Battle General Amnesty, Porn Battle XI, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'm gonna call it 'Woman with Strawberries',” Noah said as her brows rose in question. “A study in fulfilling every fucking fantasy you've been holding on to for nine fucking years.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woman with Strawberries

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was written for the Porn Battle General Amnesty, to the PB XI prompts: lust, exception, movie, study, limo, hotel.

*

Just a little celebration, they'd said.

She should have known better, she thinks dazedly as her body stirs into wakefulness. As much as she loves her two best friends, they _are_ Puck and Santana. The original party people. Masters of debauchery. No rule left unbroken. Still, she wasn't expecting _this_.

Rachel trails her fingers through the mess on her belly and then sucks them into her mouth. Mmm. Crushed strawberries, a splash of champagne, the silken slide of ice cream. And other, less familiar tastes. Probably addictive, she thinks, and finds herself smiling.

Five years together in the Big Apple, two in LA, and they'd never given into temptation even once. Friends, she'd made them vow. _Just_ friends. But she knows they planned this, their little game of Rachel-in-the-middle. Her big night, and they'd abducted her straight from the premiere, drunk on applause and camera flashes and the way her legs had looked in this tiny, ridiculously expensive dress.

It's just a flashy belt now, rucked down, pushed up, stained with strawberry juice, spit and cum. Four hours earlier, it had been an triumphant exercise in red carpet glamour, the glittering proof that she, Rachel Berry, had arrived. Was a star – and not just on Broadway. Hollywood, baby. It was just a _little_ movie, she kept telling everyone, but her fans had turned out to cheer, her co-star had been dazzled, her director had beamed proudly. People had thrown flowers.

All quite lovely, but she had checked out mentally when Puck had waltzed up in his tux and muttered “11pm,” in her ear. She had already said her goodbyes by the time Santana linked their arms, mugging gloriously for the paps, and then ushered her towards the longest, whitest, most ostentatious limo she had ever seen.

They had stocked it with champagne, strawberries, and all six of her favourite ice cream flavours.

“A feast,” she'd cried, clapping her hands, and really, the way Santana had licked her lips should have been warning enough. She'd even let it slide when Puck smirked. “It's gonna be Berrylicious,” he drawled, and she had _laughed_. Now, she burns, and wonders if she'll ever be able to eat a strawberry without blushing.

“Drive,” he'd ordered the chauffeur as they tumbled into the limo, sliding up the privacy screen even as they pulled away from the kerb. Santana's shove had sent her sprawling backwards across the long seat, and when Puck arched her backwards into his lap for a kiss, she'd put it down to the excitement of the night. They were celebrating. She'd make an exception.

She was still making an exception when Santana's hands began to slide up her thighs, clever fingers tracing hot trails of sensation all the way up to the edge of her panties. She was liquid by the time those fingers found her clit, a sly little tease that had her moaning into Puck's mouth.

“Hey Berry. Manhands!” Santana's urgency forced her to lift her head, and when their eyes met, Rachel gasped at the hunger there. “You into this? We doing this?”

“Define 'this',” she had said, proud of how steady her voice was. It was important to be sure about these things.

The curve of Santana's mouth had been a thing of pure wickedness. “This? Come _on_ , Rachel. That thing you've always wanted but never been able to admit? We got sick of waiting. This is us fucking you. Together.” Puck was drawing circles on the exposed slopes of her breasts, his touch already maddening but getting lighter. Santana's hands had left her body altogether, and Rachel knew torture when she saw it. Fine then!

She planted her brand new Manolos either side of Santana's hips, and rolled her body into a long, sinuous arch, her arms stretching up and behind to seize the door handle on Puck's far side. Her hips were thrust upwards into Santana's face, and her breasts had nearly escaped their Versace prison, bare nipples peeking over the top of the silver and pink bodice, tight little stones just inches from Puck's mouth. Rachel had needed to stifle a giggle at his long, shocked moan.

“Fuck, Rachel,” Santana had cursed, voice thick with awe and lust. She didn't move, though. Not even a finger.

“Yes, please,” Rachel said pointedly, before arching even further into Santana's face as Puck leapt at the offer, hands and mouth mauling her breasts, pinching and pulling and sucking even as he pushed the bodice down further, freeing them completely. Rachel was lost to sensation the minute his lips touched her, but it still registered when he lifted his head to snap at Santana.

“Satan! You got stagefright? You've been wanting this for years!”

Rachel felt Santana smile against her thigh, and then squeaked as her friend bit down, worrying the tender flesh between her teeth. “Just leaving you a little present, Puckerman. So you don't forget who was here first,” Santana mumbled, tongue already busy soothing the bruise. Rachel would think about how possessive that had sounded _later_ , because Santana was tugging her panties down, shoving them clear of her knees, patience clearly at an end.

“So pretty, Rach,” she crooned as she crawled back up the seat, nuzzling Rachel's mostly bare mound with her nose. Santana's tongue peeked from between her teeth as she just gazed for a moment, then looked up to lock eyes with Rachel as she licked a slow, wet trail of insanity up the full length of Rachel's slit.

Puck swallowed Rachel's gasp with a chuckle, then manoeuvred them into a sitting position, his hands hooking around her knees to push them wide, allowing Santana to drop onto the floor between them.

“Watch,” he commanded, voice gravelly with lust against her ear, hands busy tugging her dress clear of her ass, exposing her fully.

Santana's tongue was the same dark red as her dress, Rachel had observed shakily. Lust has a colour, her brain had chattered as Santana dragged that wicked, red tongue over her pussy, down to nibble at her thighs, up to lick around her hipbones. She's showing off, Rachel had told herself, embarrassed by the little moans that were escaping her mouth. She's just playing with you.

And then Santana had moved back down to trace every fold she had with the merciless, pointed tip of her tongue. A broad circle around her vulva, a long, luxurious sweep along puffy outer lips, a teasing flicker over the fragile folds unfurling inside. This, she discovered, was being worshipped, being adored, and then being fucked hard, her inner walls rippling around Santana's fingers as the other woman's tongue found something inside that made her twist and beg and sob. She had no idea, none, had never guessed how good this could be, and the pleasure … she had thought the pleasure was going to fucking kill her.

Santana's throaty laugh had echoed through the limo as Rachel convulsed in Puck's arms, her hips thrashing in desperate, yearning circles.

“Baby needs cock,” Santana had smirked, and she found herself agreeing, nodding madly, scrabbling for him even as Puck rolled on a condom. She would have liked to face him, to be able to kiss him for this, their first time, but the thought was crushed by her desperation to feel him inside, to feel more. To feel everything. Rachel felt him lift her into the air, and had begun to keen at the slow, hot push of him entering her, bit by bit, agonising in its gentleness.

“God no,” she had sobbed, even as her walls were clutching at him, beginning to contract. But she needed ... 

“I want you to fuck me.” Puck had blinked in surprise, but Rachel knew he'd figure it out eventually – they had love, they'd always had love. But they'd never had this, and she'd waited so long … 

She scrambled off his lap, shunted herself forward on the seat on all fours and glanced back, begging him.

“Please, Puck.”

He gripped her hips and jerked her back a little, as if testing her resolve. Rachel moaned and hung her head, pushing her ass high and pressing her bare breasts into the cold leather of the seat. She began to rock, her nipples dragging exquisitely, body writhing as she stimulated herself.

“Oh, Berry, you dirty girl. You just wanna get off again, don't you?” Puck had murmured as he stroked the tip of his cock up and down the swollen, aching lips of her pussy.

“You want me to fuck you hard, Rach? How hard are we talking? Nice and steady with a B for effort hard? Or so hard you'll have bruises tomorrow? You won't be able to walk?”

Frustration had gobbled her whole, she remembers. That had to be why.

“Do your worst, Puckerman. Fucking cripple me,” she'd snapped, and he'd taken her at her word. His cock had slammed into her, bottoming out immediately, but he was gone before she could fully appreciate the pressure. And again. And again.

He was driving her across the seat, into Santana, who had slid into the corner to watch. She opened her arms and helped Rachel to brace, their bodies clashing together with every wild thrust. Their mouths found each other, and there was no time for exploring, or gentleness, simply the madness of tongues and teeth together as Puck slammed into her from behind, the merciless friction rasping through her, devestating her, breaking her into a million tiny fragments of incredulous satisfaction.

When she came to, her body was a landscape of strawberries sitting in swirls of half-melted icecream. Santana had been swigging from a champagne bottle, legs akimbo, slowly fingering herself as she watched Puck try to balance a half strawberry on each of Rachel's jutting nipples.

“Hungry?” Rachel asked, blushing as she slowly registered what he was trying to do. Puck grinned, and slid both berries into his mouth instead.

“Nah. My latest masterpiece. I'm gonna call it 'Woman with Strawberries',” he said as her brows rose in question. “A study in fulfilling every fucking fantasy you've been holding on to for nine fucking years.”

Nine years? Nine? Rachel spluttered in shock and Puck must have seen the question coming, because the next strawberry went right into her mouth. She was still enjoying the sweetness on her tongue when he found a surprisingly large, elongated fruit and held it aloft, grinning down at Santana.

“Berrylicious,” was all he said, and Rachel suddenly realised why she'd heard that word so many times over the years. It was code, of a sort. Decoded, now, as Puck moved down next to Santana, and ran the pointed tip up and down Rachel's slit, gentling her to the idea, before pushing it between the lips of her vulva, and into the sensitive, pulsing channel beyond.

“Oh God,” Santana breathed, eyes black. “Looks like a fucking jewel in there, Rach.”

“Shit's fucking hot,” Puck croaked, and for a minute, they were all 17 again, no longer the lawyer, the artist and the movie star. Just three kids, caught up in all the bullshit of high school, too frightened to touch each other the way they wanted to. Rachel had sighed, and then conscious thought evaporated as her lovers moved simultaneously to bite down.

They chased the juice together, prised it from her with tongues and lips and teeth and fingers, and then licked her clean, collecting every last fragment of strawberry with sighs of satisfaction just as she was beginning to buck. Rachel wailed with frustration, and Puck had laughed as he reached up to scrabble in the small cooler behind her head.

“Guess what?” he teased, breath hot in her ear.

“What?” she had squeaked as Santana abandoned her quivering pussy to lick patterns around her belly button, and … oh God, her sore, oversensitised nipples.

“I bought three fucking punnets.” They had taken turns, then, nibbling at strawberry after strawberry, grazing her clit with lips and teeth and tongue each time until she began to thrash. They had held her down, one set of hands heavy on her hip bones while a clever mouth tortured her, making her come again, and again and again, until there were no more strawberries left.

They had fallen asleep somewhere just shy of Venice Beach, Puck stretched full length on the seat with Santana and Rachel curled together in the circle of his arms. Her dreams were full of limbs tangled together, dark red flesh, and strawberries sweet and tangy on her tongue.

She wakes before the others, and glances down at herself, dress ruined, body sticky from their bacchanal. A little celebration, indeed. She should have known better, she thinks as she sucks her fingers. (She tastes like joy.)

Nothing is little, with these two. Nothing is minor, or subtle, or discreet. It's going to take some managing, a certain amount of careful navigation, this thing they have. They'll need to set some ground rules.

She picks up the wallphone and speaks quietly into the intercom so as not to wake the others.

“Back to the hotel,” she orders. “As quick as you can manage. Please.”

She watches them sleep, and wonders how long they'll try to avoid talking about this. Not the sex, but what's going to happen next. The way forward. And the fact they had been planning it for nine years. It's okay, though. She'll persuade them to come clean. Rachel Barbra Berry is nothing if not dogged in pursuit of a goal.

She would request a fruit platter as soon as they checked in.

 

_fin_

_  
_

Disclaimer: This fanfiction was written for personal enjoyment rather than profit. No infringement on the rights of the intellectual property owners is intended.


End file.
